


the boy who swam her to shore

by BadOldWest



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/BadOldWest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Annie crept up on Finnick</p>
            </blockquote>





	the boy who swam her to shore

 

 

If she crept up on him, it’s not because she meant to. He had his guard down.

~

.

On the train to the capitol, Annie meets Mags and Finnick. She’s still trying to piece together what just happened. She watches them try not to look sympathetically at her young, round face. She stutters and forgets what questions she should be asking.

She’s struck mostly by his beautiful face. She remembers watching him years before, a victor, beloved by the entire district. He looks haggard and jaded now. But even that can’t make him ugly. She vaguely remembers watching him fish from her father’s boat, before the games; when he was just whispered about behind the palms of all the girls instead of shouted about in exultation by every citizen.

She liked how the sunlight caught his hair as it dried messily, sticking up in all directions. She liked how he moved through water like he was flying. She liked his shoulders, strong and determined.

She hadn’t seen his face back then. But she finds him distractingly handsome now, even while knowing she is going to die.

Her fellow tribute is stuttering through his plan to survive, that he’d probably prepared and perfected years ago, just in case, never expecting to have to use it. Mags and Finnick nod, but their eyes say he’s overlooked so much. She hasn’t planned that carefully. She has overlooked everything. So she stays quiet.

Eventually, Finnick notices her staring. He glances at her, and gives her a small smile.

She saw him around back in the district every once in a while. They sort of grew up together, not with the same people but a part of the same generation. They could probably name a few stories which they overlapped each other. She remembers swimming out with the older kids one day, out to this floating dock somebody built a hundred yards from the beach. Everyone swam there to talk away from adults. It sank a bit under the weight of even one person, and there would be parties of kids who would all stand on it until it sank a solid five feet underwater.

The fuzzy parts of her mind remember this, and nearly drowning after being shoved around too much. The dock sank too deep for her to stand on, and she tried to tread water as long as she could, and everyone else was laughing and yelling and dunking each other. They were all older and braver and didn’t notice the little twelve year old hyperventilating, not nearly as close to death as she thought she was.

But he noticed. Easily, he grabbed one of her arms, looping it over his shoulders. He must have been about fourteen, right before his reaping. He had a warm smile, like an older brother, as he carried this little slip of a girl on his back. She clung to him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

He swam with her on his back to shore. She felt childish and silly and blushed whenever she saw him after that. But he didn’t notice; he was in too much of a fog after the Games. If she survived, she might understand why.

It occurs to her that Finnick Odair has saved her life once before.

~

.

She can not sleep, and paces the car holding everyone’s sleeping quarters. Up and down the aisle. She chews her thumbnail until it bleeds. She knows she will die. She is not strong. She will be killed mercilessly and everyone will watch.

She begins to cry. And behind her, a door slides open.

He sleeps without a shirt, and it strikes her, as it did every other time she saw him in such a state. He rubs the back of his head tiredly.

“Are you okay kid?”

She shakes her head.

He leans against his doorframe and sighs.

“This is going to be the most painful thing you will ever go through.” He says tiredly, “I don’t envy you. You look scared out of your mind.”

She nods, wide-eyed. He covers his mouth with his hand, looking her over.

He reaches a hand out to her.

“You’ll be okay.” He promises. “I like you. I’m going to help you.”

He looks at her like nobody else has. Like under his eyes he’s seeing everything good about her.

She flushes bright red, and she’s composed of dark hair and pale skin and red cheeks. Every beautiful color in the world has found its way onto his person, his radiant green eyes and beautiful bronze hair and every color in between glimmers with each blink, each toss of his head. She chokes out an apology and slams the door to her room.

It occurs to her he’s still never mentioned the thought of her dying during these games.

She avoids his eyes the next day. But he sits next to her at every meal. She starts to cry at the dinner table, and under the table, he holds her hand.

He pulls her aside after dinner, where they can be alone. He sits her down and tells her a few, simple things. He tells her she will not survive if she goes for the cornucopia. He tells her that she’s pretty, and the capitol people will try to use that, and that she should be smart and funny and a million things before she lets them make her beautiful. She doesn’t understand why he says this, but she knows that he knows what it’s really like to be beautiful, and she should listen to him.

He holds her hand as he says this.

“What do they do to beautiful people?”

He turns away at this and shuts his eyes.

“I don’t want them to do those things to you.” he insists. “You’re too…good.”

He kisses her knuckles. “You have an innocent face. I like it.”

She blushes, and he laughs at this. “I love that. Nobody blushes like that in the capitol. They have no modesty. No shame.”

She bites her lip. “It seems vulgar, from what I’ve seen.”

He nods. “Excess. Disgusting excess. But you are so simple and quiet.”

She doesn’t know what to say to this, so she stays simple and quiet.

He smiles and they talk about their town and her parents and some old fishing urban legends that they’ve each heard a million times from the same people. They laugh a little and he grabs her hand when she says something funny; she blushes and swells with pride.

He remembers her more than she does him; the fish she could somehow catch that were bigger than her body when she was five, her friends from school, a bracelet she always wore.

She’s surprised, and pleased, so she tells him about what all her friends said about what they’d like to do with him. He laughs heartily at this, and kisses her cheek. It feels odd, as her mentor, but she likes it and ignores the breech in propriety. She doesn’t want to listen to capitol’s rules and regulations right now. He feels like a friend, and a good person, and he promised to keep her alive, mentor or not. So she lets it make her smile.

He had a hard time admitting how much he loved seeing her glow after that little peck on the cheek. But it made him feel more than any other physical act ever had.

They part ways for the evening, only for her to be unable to sleep and goes back to pacing the aisle again.

She thinks of him, and hopes he’ll open the door.

He doesn’t. And she grows impatient, and curious.

She goes to his room this time, and slides open the door.

“Creeping through the halls, Miss Cresta?”

He’s lying in his bed like he was waiting for her to come in.

“Couldn’t sleep either.” He says tiredly, smiling at her.

She stares at him. She goes to him. She lies with him.

And she does something she’s never done before, and it’s rushed and nervous and he lets her and he guides her through it, crooning the most beautiful words in her ear.

He’s very good at this sort of thing, from practice, and that makes her shudder in a million different ways. He doesn’t seem bored with her, like she expected he would. He seems quietly amazed with the bared bits of her skin, even the usually un-clad bits; thighs, ankles, wrists, neck. His lips move over her lips, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She breaks apart under his perfect lips, surrendering whatever she had left to give to him.

It’s strange how immediately she trusts him, and she feels wet tears on her cheeks, and she glances up to see they’re his.

She wraps her legs tighter around him, running her fingers over his tear-streaked cheeks. She lets him cry for what he’s done and for what she will have to do. What will continue to happen to children for the rest of eternity, the fear, the violence, the destruction of life.

He’s trained several years worth of tributes at this point, and he’s seen all of them die. And this perfect, wild looking siren underneath him makes him desperate for her life, for his own.

And he leans down and through every movement of his body, lips, hands and hips; he tries to give his own breath to her.

She releases underneath him, losing her breath that he tries to kiss back into her.

He jerks unsteadily over her, and she runs her fingers through his hair.

He settles himself on top over, running his hands up and down the underside of her thighs, still wrapped tight around him.

“I didn’t want to die before I…” she whispers against his neck.

Finnick rolls off her. He tangles a hand in her hair. She’s draped across his chest and he kisses the side of her face, under her jaw and behind her ear and her temple.

“I know, I know. I thought the same thing.”

She blushes, and wonders what happened when he didn’t die…that way.

“Annie,” and it’s the first time he’s directly said her name. “Annie, I want to keep you alive _._ ”

She kisses him, and doesn’t regret entering his room. Doesn’t regret not being a virgin anymore.

She regrets falling in love with him, and he feels the exact same way about her.

~

.

He gives her advice and kisses her, he holds her hand and kisses her, he tells her how lovely she looks and kisses her.

This is their last night.

She has one more night before everything will change.

He warns her that everything will change, but he won’t. He’ll still want her alive; he’ll do everything he can to keep her safe. She will live. No matter what, she will live for him.

Her muscles are sore from training and her head hurts from all the noise and colors of the crowds. He rubs her back and kisses her head.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, and shakily states her wish to have him one more time before the Games.

“It’s not like I’m sleeping tonight anyway.” She jokes.

He closes his eyes. “Please tell me I taught you something. I’m a shit mentor. I just hope…”

“Avoid the bloodbath at the cornucopia. Find water. Find shelter. It’s better to run than to fight, in terms of being the last one standing…”

She quotes every other piece of advice he’s given her, words for word, sitting before him, plain and simple.

He smiles wryly. “How’d you remember all that?’

She blushes. “I listen to everything you say. You’re…the most amazing person I've ever met.”

He kisses her, and eases her onto her back.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He makes love to her, but they both don’t want to call it that.

“Never, ever, let them see what scares you. What hurts you.” he whispers in her ear afterwards.

~

.

She’s freezing and alone and wants to die when another flash of silver lights up her eyes. Why so many gifts? How did she get sponsors?

She stumbled uselessly through her interviews; she looked un-impressive in her gowns and costumes. Why? Why was this happening?

How?

Never had she seen this many gifts for tributes. What inspired these sponsors to give her the extra food?

She should have known he was watching her every move, in the room where they edited the games, so he only watched the cameras trained on her.

He left only a few times a day.

Like when she was tired, he went out and met with a wealthy woman from the capitol. He said his piece; he upheld his end of the bargain. He re-dressed and the woman paid for a dry blanket to float down into Annie’s arms.

The few times Annie was so hungry she couldn’t do much more than cry, he went to everyone person who sought his “company” before. He used the one thing everybody wanted, the one thing he had, to get her a few loaves of bread, or some water.

Annie had no idea that each little silver parachute was bought with Finnick’s body.

It was how he would pay for her safety for most of the rest of his life.

~

.

There’s water everywhere, and she’s treading water in the deep. He’s not there to sling her over his shoulders. She coughs and chokes and fights the current. Corpses float around her.

The blood is finally being washed away. The water is pink. She hates it.

She’s so tired and sick and she can’t even make enough sense in her mind to realize this.

The water is pink. She closes her eyes, right as the twenty-third cannon booms.

~

.

Her eyes are sunken and lined with shadows. Her hands shake whenever she tries to hold something.

She screams randomly throughout the night. She wakes up crying.

The water was pink. She is rehabilitated and goes through her interview hollowly. She mourns. She’s a somber victor. She cries constantly. Caesar is uncomfortable around her. None of the viewers are proud of her. They mostly fidget and want to watch her relish in blood shed. But everyone drowned.

She can’t speak, and she laughs at how awful everything is. She’s driven to hysterics. She cries and laughs.

She stares out the train window and thinks about how much she would have liked to die. How she should have died.

He expects this, he’s ready for it. He went through it too.

So he holds her and smoothes her hair, and helps her eat and fall back asleep and calm down.

And he says it.

Over and over, he says; “Annie, I love you.”

And she knows, in her maddened brain, that’s the reason she lived.

~

.

She swims out into the depths of the sea, to the floating dock, giggling with each sway of her limbs. Her wet hair sticks to her shoulders, the dry roots still frizzy with curls down to her chin. He swims after her, reaching for her, his hands brushing her chest and waist and legs as he tries to grab her. This isn’t that cute game she envisioned. This is him desperately trying to stop her from evading him.

She pulls herself onto the dock, their dock. Their little square of planks with empty drums of air tied underneath, anchored to the ocean floor so it drifted only on its leash. This was the one place they had.

“I have to return to the capitol soon.” He flops down next to her, smoothing her hair back.

She doesn’t answer, her vague eyes flitting over the horizon. She smiles at something in her mind, not from this place they currently occupied.

He takes her hand in his. “Come back,” he orders gently.

Her eyes snap to his, fiery and intense. “But you’re going away, why can’t I?’

He shuts his eyes. “I’d give anything to stay here, with you.”

“They touch you. They touch you like I touch you.” she combs her wet hair back from her face, sliding off the submerged dock into open water.

He pulls her back up, and they kneel before each other. He clings harshly to her shoulders.

“I’d give anything to change that.”

Her crazed eyes search his for a reason why all of this happened. There is none.

“I love you, only you.”

“Finnick, when you put it in me, I know you were with other people.” She looks sick. She can only describe it like it’s vulgar and depraved because it’s the capitol. They took the one beautiful, pure, loving thing she had with Finnick and tainted it beyond recognition. It was a gluttonous, dirty act now.

He shuts his eyes. “What can I do, what can I do?”

She splashes him with water.

“The water was pink.” She says.

He nods, because she says it after nightmares and during fits of madness.

She still kisses him, and he licks that salt from her lips.

She slides her hands over him, rubbing him clean with her wet skin.

He needs her to cleanse him. To absolve him. To understand him and know exactly what he felt.

He lays her on her back. “Nobody feels all of me like you do.” He kisses her fully. He lifts her skirt and she lowers his pants. He gives all of himself into her body. She accepts all of him, wet with sea water and arousal. They’re too far out to be seen or heard. Gulls are crying out louder than they are.

Her wet hair floats under the water and she clings to him afterwards, clothing soaked through, and cries. He cries with her. They are hopeless and broken and tainted and all they have is each other, and even that can be taken away.

~

.

 

He taps on her window, late at night. In the moonlight, for some reason she’s reminded of his bloody face as he won the Games. She stares at him, struck dumb at the memory.

“Come with me,” he urges.

She reaches for him, touching his face, looking for blood. Her hand stays clean, but she’s still sure it’s there.

He hovers outside her window, like it’s the most natural and basic calling in the world. He seizes her wrist. He pulls her gently, and she climbs out after him. She giggles. His other hand goes to cover her mouth.

He can’t stand that she laughs at what isn’t funny. He hates even more that it doesn’t stop him from loving her.

He pulls her into a slimy old boat and rows them out, deep into the water.

“Have you been watching the games?”

She shakes her head. “Asleep.”

He takes a shaky breath. “District twelve. There have been two victors. Annie, the capitol is in a frenzy. There’s talk of…” he shuts his eyes. “Things may change.”

Change is a word she can’t understand, because the last time it happened, she lost her mind. It’s a dirty word.

She begins to cry, because she doesn’t want her mind to get worse, and he holds her.

“Shh, it’s not going to be like last time, I promise. Everything will get better.”

And he kisses her, and she pulls her nightgown over her head and lies back on the slimy floor of the boat. She missed him while he was at the capitol. She touches the body that isn’t really hers and he grunts and groans and relaxes against her touch. She pulls him down to lay between her parted thighs and they re-connect and pretend they’re still innocent and good.

~

.

They know she could be chosen. He definitely will be. She might be.

They thought they escaped this hell, but they’re only going to be reeled back in. they hear rumors of one older victor from district six who hung himself after the announcement. Annie wants to. She wants to die.

She cries constantly, tearing at her hair and laughing a terrible laugh. She gets so much worse, and he can’t reach her, so he leaves her in bed all day and strokes her tensed muscles and tries to make her calm down.

“I’m going to keep you safe, I promise you, I’ll keep you safe.”

“You’ll die if I live.” She screams. “I can’t live without you.”

He strokes her back. “Love, we have to be used to the thought of living without each other, our safety isn’t real. It’s a gift they give us if we’re good. They can just as easily take it away”

She sobs into his chest, and swears she needs him forever, and she’ll die without him.

Mags stops by to visit. There’s a lot of whispering over Annie’s head. Finnick looks sick after she leaves, but he doesn’t cling to Annie quite as desperately.

~

.

Her name is called, and she screams. She falls to her knees and screams.

Finnick stood next to her the whole time, holding her hand, smoothing her hair, crushing her in an embrace. The crowd can’t look away at this crazy girl.

“Can’t go back, can’t go back.” she sobs.

Peacekeepers grab her arms, and they drag her away from Finnick, who tries to fight but can’t. He looks desperate.

“No.” she howls, and struggles, to no avail.

They call his name, and they stand onstage holding hands. She doesn’t want one of them to die.

Then Mags volunteers.

Annie can’t breathe.

She tries to cling to Finnick, to stay with him, but she gets moved offstage and she cries more.

When she gets to say goodbye, she can’t speak.

He runs across the room to her as soon as the door swings open. He grabs her arms and kisses her. He pulls back and looks into her eyes, her face, and her expression. His eyes are so frantic and intense. She cries hysterically, letting her face turn purple and snot and tears run all over. He wipes her eyes and cleans her face with a handkerchief.

He puts one hand on her cheek, she holds it there.

“You’re going to be okay.” He promises.

She shakes her head, clinging to him.

She’s so confused, and the look on her face is the same look he saw when she stepped on the train all those years ago. Except this time, it’s not for her life, it’s for his.

“I love you.” he says, and she nods, and her eyes say how much she’s always loved him.

He closes his eyes, and knows she loves the boy who swam her to shore when she was twelve. She loves him now and she still sees the person he desperately wishes he could go back and be. Before this hell.

“Mags?” she chokes out.

He nods. “She offered. I couldn’t refuse.”

He’s always saving her life, whatever way he can. Even in the darkest, sickest ways. He’ll dirty himself up a million times so he can keep her clean.

“You’re still so good.” He murmurs, brushing his lips over hers, trying to savor any act of loving her. He holds her body tight, but her arms are limp by her sides. She cries.

She can’t speak.

He kisses her somewhere between three and a million times more before they order her to leave. They drag her out of the room kicking and screaming.

That evening, the sunset over the water makes it look pink. She screams and can do nothing else for a long time.

 

 


End file.
